


An End...

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 3 Coliver Codas [2]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s03e02 There are Worst Things Than Murder, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8201075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: Oliver looked and walked around the room, around the space, and saw Connor everywhere.
It wasn’t just in the things Connor had left behind in his haste. Oliver saw Connor in the things that were missing. 
The blank spot on the wall where his print of Baldwin had hung. The drawers Connor had packed in a rush and were now empty and sitting open, just a few centimeters ajar. His half of the bathroom counter was completely bare.
Connor was still everywhere. He still lingered in every corner of the apartment. Oliver could hear the ghost of Connor’s voice when he turned his head, could still smell Connor’s aftershave hanging in the air, he could feel the cool press of Connor’s lips against his own.
But he was gone.
Connor was gone and Oliver was alone.
+ 
A Coliver 3x02 coda





	

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/151252283463/a-coliver-3x02-coda-note-check-tags-for)

He’d forgotten about dinner.

Oliver flipped off the burners with a flick of his wrist and, with a touch of apprehension, lifted one of the pot lids. He found that the sauce had been simmering so long it had started to crust on the sides of the pan and a check of the other pot was no better. The pasta inside was a mushy, overcooked mess.

Turning on the sink, Oliver grabbed potholders and poured the mess of pasta down the drain. He flipped the switch and let the food processor deal with the mess of it all, using a wooden spoon to shove down the remaining bits of food. The sauce followed suit and, once the processor was down pulverizing all of it, Oliver dumped some dish soap in the pan and filled it with hot water, letting the mess start to soak.

_You made dinner for you and your ex. Isn’t that just darling?_

Ignoring the thought, whispered in a voice that sounded entirely too much like Oliver’s own, Oliver dealt with the salad next, pulling out plastic wrap and tupperware on autopilot.

_Wow,_ the voice whispered darkly. _You really made a lot of food. Who exactly did you think was going to eat all of this? Or were you planning on sending your ex-boyfriend off each day with as kiss on the cheek and leftovers for lunch? How quaint._

Pushing the voice away again, trying to shove it deeper back this time, Oliver opened the fridge and put away the salad and leftover vegetables. And there in the door was the chilling bottle of champagne. Oliver closed his eyes and hung his head.

_Doesn’t Connor have a substance abuse problem? Wasn’t buying champagne a bad idea? Or were you just too focused on pretending everything was still fine and making sure dinner was perfect that you forgot about that small detail_?

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, Oliver let the fridge door close with a slam. Fuck it all. He’d deal with the dishes and the mess tomorrow.

He walked over to the couch and sat down. Absently picking up the remote, Oliver turned on the TV. He needing a distraction, something dumb and mindless to keep his brain from thinking so fucking loud. He flipped through a the channels and tried to watch a few minutes of something stupid on Bravo but quickly turned it off. He wasn’t in the mood for…well for anything really.

Standing, Oliver looked and walked around the room, around the space, and saw Connor everywhere.

It wasn’t just in the things Connor had left behind in his haste. A sweater tossed over the back of a chair. The USB left in Oliver’s laptop. The phone charger Oliver spotted on the nightstand. The old lacrosse stick that remained shoved in the corner of the closet.

Oliver saw Connor in the things that were missing. The blank spot on the wall where his print of Baldwin had hung. The drawers Connor had packed in a rush and were now empty and sitting open, just a few centimeters ajar. His half of the bathroom counter was completely bare. And then there was the closet. While his half of it still had a number of things in it, there were huge sections missing, as if Connor had blindly reached in and plucked up handfuls of shirts and pants and shoes to shove in the bags he was taking.

Connor was still everywhere. He still lingered in every corner of the apartment. Oliver could hear the ghost of Connor’s voice when he turned his head, could still smell Connor’s aftershave hanging in the air, he could feel the cool press of Connor’s lips against his own.

But he was gone.

Connor was gone and Oliver was alone.

_Isn’t this what you wanted?_ The voice taunted him. _You told him you wanted to be alone and now you are._

Blinking back the sting of tears, Oliver sat on the edge of the bed.

_He just wanted to make you happy, just wanted to love you. And you pushed him away. You are so fucking stupid_.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Oliver covered his mouth with a hand, trying to muffle a sob.

_You dumped him and then made him fucking dinner. Oh right, we don’t like that word. We didn’t dump him …But calling it something nicer doesn’t make it better. You dumped him. You dumped him and broke his heart and then begged him to stay. Fucking pathetic._

“Stop it,” Oliver whispered, voice weak and low. But the thoughts were true. He had begged Connor to stay tonight. He could hear his own voice echoing the words back.

“Connor, please. Not tonight. Don’t leave tonight. Just….just stay. We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure something out and–”

“No, Ollie. No. No!! You…you dumped me!! I…I can’t fucking stay here!! This–it isn’t good. It isn’t okay. We–I need to leave. Just let me leave!”

_Fucking pathetic,_ his own head whispered again to him. _So fucking pathetic. You really think you’re going to ever find anyone else to love you like he did. ‘Cause you’re not. I mean, look at him. And look at you. He’s going find someone else in a minute._

“No,” Oliver whispered to himself, too upset to feel foolish.

_He’s going to find someone else. Someone else is going to love him. Someone else is going to kiss him and hold him and touch him and fuck him. He’s going to call someone else’s name out in bed in a heartbeat. Think about that. Someone else is going to touch him. Someone else is going to kiss him. He’s going to snuggle up next to someone else in bed real quick._

“Stop it,” Oliver said, louder this time, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks.

_We can stop but that doesn’t make it any less true. He’s going to find someone else, someone better, and you are going to be alone. You are going to be alone forever._

No, Oliver thought. That’s not–

_It is true. It is and you know it. Who else are you going to find to be with you now? Now that you’re broken and sick and such a fucking selfish, loser that–_

“STOP!”

Oliver was too far gone to realize he yelled the word. He yelled it into the emptiness of 303 and it echoed off the walls.

He curled fingers in his hair and pulled, pulled hard, until the pain in his scalp was all he could feel and hear and taste. He pulled until the pain whited out his vision and rang in his ears. He pulled until the voice, the dark voice inside him was silenced.

With shaking hands, Oliver reached in his back pocket for his phone. He dropped it once on the floor and it bounced away.

“Come on, Olls,” he muttered to himself as he bent to pick up the phone.

He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the tears from his cheeks and opened the phone. His thumb shook a touch as he scrolled through his contacts. He hesitated ever so briefly over Connor’s name but kept scrolling until he found it.

Pressing the contact, Oliver held the phone up to his ear and waited. It was after hours and it took five rings before the messaging service clicked on.

“Hello. You’ve reached The Madison Medical Group. Our office is now closed. If this is a medical emergency, hang up and dial 911…”

Oliver listened as the message went on. Giving the number of the on-call doctor, going over the hours of the practice, explaining how phone messages would be answered, and then, finally, listing various extensions. Hearing the one for his doctor, Oliver punched it in the phone and, even though he was waiting for it, he still jolted a bit when the beep finally sounded.

“Hi,” he said. His voice sounded small and choked and Oliver cleared his throat. “Hi. Uh, this message is for Dr. Velazquez. This is Oliver Hampton. I’m…uh…I’m an older patient and it’s been a while.” It’d been nearly two years since Oliver had visited the good doctor’s office. He hoped he was still in the system. “Anyway, I was just wondering if I could make an appointment for sometime later this week or…or early next week. We could even do something on the phone if he doesn’t have time for me to come in. I just–” When he felt his voice beginning to waver, Oliver cut himself off and took a breath. It wouldn’t do to cry on his therapist’s voice mail. “I just would really like to set something up with him, as…as soon as we can. Uh, my number hasn’t changed but, just in case, it’s…” Oliver rattled off his number and took another breath. “I–I look forward to hearing from your office tomorrow. Uh…thanks, Dr. V. Bye.”

Ending the call, Oliver wiped his phone screen off with his thumb. Going to Dr. V had helped a lot before. He might not have the experience Oliver needed now but maybe he could recommend someone or a support group or…or something.

_Thought you told Connor you needed to be alone…_

Yeah, he had and Oliver did think he needed to be alone right now. But…but being alone didn’t mean he had to go through it alone.

With a sigh, Oliver stood. He looked over to the closet where many of Connor’s clothes still hung, to the charger on the night stand, to the sweater over the back of the couch, and fought the urge to start crying again. That wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

Maybe a shower would help, help clear his head, clear his mind a little. Heading into the bathroom, Oliver tugged off his shirt and slipped off his pants and briefs. He stuffed the clothes into the hamper and turned. Avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, Oliver kept his gaze down and stopped short at what he saw.

Connor’s side of the counter was bare. From the edge of the bed, Oliver had watched as Connor shoved all his creams and products into a personal bag. So it wasn’t the lack of clutter that stilled Oliver. It was another item Connor’d forgotten. His toothbrush.

Connor’s blue toothbrush sat there in the holder, innocently next to Oliver’s red one. Connor had forgotten his toothbrush.

Connor was gone.

Oliver knew that, thought he’d known that anyway, but the realization of it hit like a punch to Oliver’s gut and he couldn’t breathe.

Connor was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

* * *

_In another (much less empty) apartment…_

The two of them were out there whispering about him.

Through the bathroom door, Connor loudly informed them, “You know I can hear you guys, right?”

The whispering stopped for a moment then started right back up again. Connor rolled his eyes and continued to dig through the bag of toiletries he’d packed. Let them whisper about him; he didn’t care.

Lifting up the bag, Connor shook it and frowned at the contents. Had he really forgotten his toothbrush? He had floss, travel-size toothpaste, a mini-bottle of mouthwash but no toothbrush.

Fucking hell.

He slammed the bag into the sink, with entirely more force than necessary, and leaned heavily on the sink, his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. How had he forgotten his goddamn toothbrush?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Connor dug out the bottle of mouthwash and took a swig of it. While he rinsed out his mouth, he tucked his small bag into a corner of the vanity. The bag looked awkward and out of place on Michaela’s perfectly arranged vanity and Connor felt oddly guilty about it.

He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have burdened Michaela with his problems. He should have gone to a hotel or…or to Wes’ or…or somewhere else, anywhere else. If he’d had more time to think, to plan, Connor wouldn’t have had to inconvenience Michaela.

He should have ignored Oliver’s “You can stay as long as you need. There’s no rush” and found a place after that first night. But, stupidly, Connor had seen hope those words; he’d seen an opening and thought he could take it.

Yeah, so Connor’d spend a few days on the couch while he subtly changed Oliver’s mind about this whole ‘breakup’ bullshit, and then they’d be alright again. Their ‘breakup’ would be a small blip on the radar, a rough patch that they had overcome and moved on from. Connor had figured he’d need to give Oliver a few days but then, after some talking and maybe some sex, everything would be fine again. Oliver just needed a few days of sleeping alone before Connor had everything he wanted, everything he needed, back in place again.

God. He was an idiot. He should have seen things for the way they were. The breakup hadn’t been temporary. It wasn’t a blip or a rough patch or an inconvenience.

It was an end.

Connor spat the mouthwash into the sink, flipped on the water, and rinsed it away.

He and Oliver were over. It was done.

With a touch of reluctance, Connor gathered up the suit he’d changed out of and left the bathroom. He didn’t want to deal with Michaela’s questions or Asher’s concern or either of them trying to talk to him. He wanted Oliver and, barring that, Connor wanted silence and sleep.

“Hey!” Michaela’s voice was overly cheerful and made Connor’s teeth clench. “You changed.”

“Yeah.” Connor threw his dirty clothes into one of the bags. “Thanks for noticing.”

Ignoring Connor’s attempt at a quip, Michaela smiled wide at him, all forced happiness and cheer. “I made you up a bed–” she started to say when Asher interrupted.

“You, Mic?”

Michaela shot him a look. “ _We_ ,” she conceded. “We made you up a bed.” Gesturing to the makeshift bed they’d put together on the couch, she continued, “Do you need anything else? More blankets or pillows or–”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Connor plopped down on the couch and rested his head on the back, letting his eyes slip shut. Even with his lids closed, Connor could practically see the looks Michaela and Asher were shooting each other, nearly hear everything they weren’t saying out loud. “You can just say it,” he muttered to them.

Michaela took a seat next to Connor on the couch and hesitated only a moment before placing her hand on his. “You…you wanna talk about it?” Connor shook his head but she pressed on, “Because you can, if you want. We’ll listen.”

Connor’s eyes opened to slits and he stared at her. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“Come on, bro.” Asher put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and joined them on the couch, settling in on Connor’s older side. “Safe space and all that shit.”

“’All that shit?’” Connor repeated. He’d won his first case today and this was really how his night was ending. _Really?_

“Yeah.” Asher squeezed Connor’s shoulder. “Safe space.”

Connor shot Michaela another look. You and him…really?

Ignoring both Asher’s words and Connor’s look, Michaela said, “Just know that, if you want, I’m here. For anything. Talking or…or whatever. Anything you want.”

“What I want…” Connor let his breath blow out long and slow. “What I want is to sleep.”

“Okay.” Michaela brushed Connor’s hair back, attempting to soothe him, trying to do something to get that devastated look out of his eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

Connor nodded. “It is.”

She stood and paused, waiting for Asher to join her but he didn’t move yet.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Asher told Connor. “We could…we could drink or I could take you out. We could drown your sorrows or find you someone new or–” Asher slapped Connor’s arm. “Strip joint. Classic break up move. I’ll take you to a strip joint. First lap dance on me.” Asher paused for the briefest of moments, “Do…do they have strip clubs for dudes?”

For a moment, Connor let himself imagine what Asher Millstone would be like in a gay bar. It sounded like Connor’s personal version of hell. “I really just want to get some sleep.”

“We hear you.” Michaela shot Asher a pointed look and pulled him up, none too gently, by his arm. “We’ll leave you alone.” Michaela flicked off the lights as they left, her hand still clamped around Asher’s arm.

The door to Michaela’s bedroom didn’t quite latch when she closed it and, through the door, Connor could hear bits and pieces of their muffled discussion. From context, Connor guessed they were debating Asher staying or leaving but Connor couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit.

He settled down on the couch, spread the borrowed blankets so they covered his feet, and plumped up a pillow behind his head. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of the last time he’d slept on a bed instead of a couch. He tried not to hear Oliver’s broken voice echoing in his head as he pleaded with Connor to stay. “Just stay tonight. We’ll figure it out. Don’t leave. Don’t leave now.”

Shaking his head and trying to banish the thoughts, Connor tried to think of something else, anything else. But he kept coming back to the words and the feel of Oliver’s soft lips parting under his and the toothbrush.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten his toothbrush.

Connor couldn’t believe they were over.

He couldn’t believe they were done.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
